


Fate Loves the Fearless

by babyfairy



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, NSFW, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, on going fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2018-12-18 23:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11884848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyfairy/pseuds/babyfairy
Summary: Soooooooooooooo I'm gonna bring my collection of Tumblr prompts here. Only five in total so far, but definitely feel free to send me more!! (And be patient if I'm slow as hell, I'm so sorry.) I'll update with each new prompt I get. Enjoy! <3





	1. The Gods Are Watching

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooooooooooo I'm gonna bring my collection of Tumblr prompts here. Only five in total so far, but definitely feel free to send me more!! (And be patient if I'm slow as hell, I'm so sorry.) I'll update with each new prompt I get. Enjoy! <3

“It’s absurd!” Azula shouts. Her sharp voice echoes off the walls around them, mingling with her agitated footsteps. “There is nothing special about her - she’s  _human_!” She spits the word, as though it burns her tongue just to hold it in her mouth.

Zuko threads a stray piece of fabric between his fingers. He’s barely listening to his sister’s ravings; it’s always something with Azula. She’s never satisfied. He stretches the piece tightly, holding it up to the light to watch it shine through the gossamer fabric. What is this made of? It catches on his skin in some places, so clearly nothing too soft.

“Zuko!” 

He winces at his sister’s shrill tone and looks up. “What?”

Azula stalks closer. When she’s angry like this, brow puckered, lips curled into a snarl, eyes glowing with spite, she isn’t nearly as lovely as the mortals insist she is. She snatches the fabric from Zuko’s hands and curls it into her fist. 

“I said, you’re going to do something about this!”

“What?” He repeats, sitting up. “Why me?”

“Because I said so!” Azula stands back. Her expression smooths out, and Zuko knows instantly she is plotting. “You owe me, anyway, big brother.” 

Zuko rolls his eyes with a long, loud, drawn out sigh. He leans back against his chair and lays his head over the back of it, hair falling out of his face. “Fine,” He mutters, glance up out of the corner of his eye. “What would you like me to do?”

A devilish smile curls Azula’s mouth upward. “I want that retched being to fall in love with the ugliest creature on that earth,” The goddess declares. “Give her a lover she deserves.” 

Zuko raises a brow. “That’s it?” It’s… Tame for Azula, but he shrugs and sits up properly. “Fine. It will be done.”

Azula crosses her arms. He smile widens into a satisfied, sinister grin. 

Zuko sighs again. Can he ever get a day of peace?

———————

Well. He can certainly see what all the fuss is about now.

Zuko perches on a pile of snow, completely unaware of the cold biting at his skin. His toes could fall off right now and he wouldn’t notice, so long as she stayed within sight. 

Yes, she is certainly beautiful. Beautiful enough to be a threat to Azula, a goddess worshiped for her beauty. 

Far more beautiful, as far as Zuko is concerned.

The princess stands in the snow, arms crossed over her thick winter coat. One neat brow sits high on her head; her full lips are pursed, but her bright blue eyes sparkle with amusement as she watches the man across from her fuss with his kill. Her skin is perfectly smooth, a lovely shade of brown, with a soft flush from the arctic winds around them whipping at her cheeks. Loops of hair a darker shade of brown flutter in the same wind.

So very beautiful.

Zuko chews the inside of his lip. He knows his orders. He has already found the beast that Azula wishes to trap this girl with. 

The young man slips with a loud yelp, tumbling face first into the snow - narrowly avoiding the blood and guts before him - and the princess laughs. The sound carries to Zuko on another gust of air, warm and bright, something most would consider obnoxious from the volume alone.

Yet the sound wraps around his heart and squeezes viciously.

His finger ghosts over the tip of his arrow. It glimmers dully in the winter sun. 

It isn’t a hard task to complete. Fire it, let her find her way to the beast, and return home. 

But then the princess smiles, pearl white teeth behind those full lips, and the arrow falls uselessly from Zuko’s hands.

———————

Her back presses against the door, none too gently. She gasps and Zuko swallows the sound whole, presses it into his lungs as he devours her mouth.

But she is not so meek. She responds with an enthusiasm to rival his own, grabbing his hips to press them flush against her own. Her fingers glide upwards, deft and slender, and push the sash at his waist apart until the material falls open to reveal the pale skin beneath it.

Zuko opens the princess’ vibrant blue tunic and grasps her waist, lifting her off of her feet. Her strong legs wrap around his hips, and his head spins when her thighs flex around him.

“Your name,” He whispers raggedly, “What is your name?”

She pushes the tunic from his shoulders, dragging her blunt nails down his chest. Zuko shudders, hissing quietly.

“Katara,” She breathes against his mouth.

It’s the most wonderful name he’s ever heard.

He kisses her hotly, moaning when her tongue slips into his mouth to meet his. Zuko presses against Katara, digging his fingers into the fullness of her hips.

There will be hell to pay, he knows, but Katara kisses him again, fingers digging into his hair, and Zuko decides that the consequences are more than worth it.


	2. If These Walls Could Talk

Really, Zuko shouldn’t be allowed to drink.

Whenever he drinks, he almost always ends up embarrassing situations - embarrassing and sometimes life threatening. He thinks back to the lake incident with Toph and shudders; that night not only put the fear of Agni in him, but a healthy fear of snapping turtles as well.

And yet here he is, stumbling into his little apartment. Suki bumps into his back impatiently as he fumbles with the lock before finally getting it open. She nudges past him and goes right for the couch, dropping all of her weight onto the cushions. 

Zuko pushes the door shut. He winces at the somewhat loud slam and toes his shoes off, then shuffles in after Suki. He doesn’t bother with the couch - she won’t share, anyway - and instead lays on the floor, cheek pressed to the scratchy carpet. The room spins around his head. He exhales, a groan tacked on the end, and reaches up to smack at Suki’s foot.

“Why did you even take me to that bar in the first place?” Zuko mumbles into the carpet. He shifts lazily, tugging his shirt up his back slightly to cool off his skin.

“Because,” Suki drawls, kicking at Zuko’s hand, “You’re annoying when you mope and you’ve been moping about the hot neighbor girl for weeks.”

Zuko grunts and rolls over. “I have not!” He isn’t aware of how loud his voice is. “I haven’t been moping over her!” 

Above him, Suki laughs. It’s twice as loud as his voice, bouncing off the walls and coming right back to them. “Bullshit!” She snorts. She forces herself onto her side, honey colored hair falling across her face as she stares down at him. “You’ve got it so bad for the neighbor girl! All you do is talk about her and how loud she is!” Suki sits up, reaching down to bat at Zuko’s face. “I am a very good friend, so - so I took you out to try to find someone else for you to mope over, but nooooooooo, all you could talk about was the neighbor girl and who she might be banging and how you wished it was you.”

Zuko grunts and bats at Suki’s hand in turn. He gives up on trying to deny it and instead yells with all of the pent up frustration in him. “It’s just not fair!” He shouts, fists banging on the carpet. “She’s so goddamn pretty, and she has the nicest laugh!” He rocks from side to side, legs folding up slightly. “And - Suki, oh my god - I can hear every sound she makes - oh my  _god_  - her moans are the hottest thing I have ever heard!” 

Suki laughs again. She lays down and presses her cheek to the mattress. All the shit they’ve gotten into tonight and still her make up is perfectly intact, red lips pristine and winged eyeliner flawless. 

She reaches down and pats Zuko’s cheek, clumsy, but trying to comfort him. “Maybe you should just suck it up and take her out,” She suggests, “So you’re the one that ends up in bed with her.”

His scoff is so loud it scratches his throat. “Yeah, right. Like that’ll ever happen.”

——————————————

After Suki leaves in the morning, Zuko spends a good hour nursing his hangover. 

He manages to drag himself to the kitchen and make a cup of tea, though he’s not even sure what he grabbed; something sweet and hot to soothe the sharp aches in his head.

He changes into the first clean shirt and sweats he finds, then trudges downstairs to the mailbox. Much as he wants to sleep some more, he’s waiting on a package from Uncle.

Zuko shuffles to the mailboxes, stifling a loud yawn behind his hand. He unlocks his, finding only bills and advertisements - and a postcard from Uncle inside. He shifts his weight, reading over it with a slight smile; the package is on its way, Uncle assures him, and he’s having the time of his life on the tiny island he’d chosen for his vacation.

“Hi, ‘scuse me.” 

Zuko glances up to find his neighbor coming up to his side, reaching for her mailbox. He flushes faintly and steps aside, pushing his mailbox door shut. “Hi, sorry.”

Chewing his lip, Zuko continues leafing through his mail, glancing at his neighbor from the corner of his eye. Her name is Katara; he’d learned this two days after moving in, when she’d introduced herself with a platter of cookies that actually tasted horrible, but the gesture was so kind that he hadn’t had the heart to admit that.

But then he’d learned just how thin the walls between their apartments are when she’d brought someone home a few days after their introductions. He vividly remembers almost dropping a pot on his foot when he realized he was hearing Katara moan. Didn’t matter who it was, either, everyone she brought home praised her and worshiped her, all for Zuko to hear loud and clear.

Beside him, Katara extracts her mail and shuts the little door. She leafs through it, and for a moment, Zuko can only sigh inwardly at how pretty she is; it’s barely eleven AM and she looks so perfect already.

“So,” Katara hedges, and Zuko glances up. She doesn’t lift her head, but her eyes instead. There’s a glint in them that makes him instantly nervous. “You had an interesting night, didn’t you?”

His brows furrow in confusion, and then it hits him like a train - everything he and Suki had yelled about, everything to do with  _Katara_ , in his living room, surrounded by the thinnest walls ever made.

She’d heard it.

She’d heard all of it.

The faint flush on his cheeks flares up to his good ear and down the length of his neck, disappearing into his shirt. Zuko groans and presses the envelopes to his face to hide himself. If he’s lucky, the ground will just - just shatter under him right now and drop him straight into the depths of hell. 

Katara watches him. She laughs softly; the sound is warm and teasing, and it only makes his embarrassment that much worse.

“Oh, God,” Zuko mutters behind his makeshift shield, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I-”

“It’s fine,” Katara insists. Her tone is easy, not bothered in the slightest, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. She pockets her keys and looks up, tilting her head.

“Whenever you’re ready for that date, I’m available all day on Saturdays.”

Zuko promptly drops everything in his hands, jaw going slack. Katara laughs again. She turns away with a gentle toss of her wildly long hair, walking away. 

Zuko is frozen to the spot, rooted to the tile floor by sheer shock. He finally comes back to himself and crouches down, scrambling to grab his discarded mail, and rushes after Katara.

“Hey!” He calls, trying to catch up to her, “Wait! About that date - are you free this Saturday?”


	3. Communications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First quote is not mine, but the rest are.

Zuko rolls his eyes at his notebook, though he continues to take down the notes. Some of the decisions the leaders of the past made were idiotic, but whatever. He’s got a final to study for, he can’t be bothered to mull over why dead men did what they did. He shifts his notebook to reach the edge of the page - and his eye is caught by the writing in the corner.

Graffiti on the desks has long been a popular tradition at this university, but Zuko has never bothered to pay attention to it. However, he’s intrigued by the blue ink etched into the desk. He moves his notebook aside to read it.

_“May flowers grow in the saddest parts of you.”  
_

He doesn’t know what compels him to grab his pen and press it into the wood under the phrase. Maybe it’s the gentleness of the words; it’s a terribly tender thing to wish a total stranger, but it speaks to that part of him, the part that’s been wounded and scarred. 

_“May the sun light the darkest parts of you.”  
_

Zuko stares at the words, etched into the wood with red ink, fresh and glistening. He suddenly feels stupid - he doesn’t even know who wrote that, what is he thinking? Scowling, he caps his pen and flips his notebook shut, stuffing it into his bag when the professor dismisses the class. He leaves the room and he doesn’t look back.

—————————————-

When he returns to the desk two days later, he finds a fresh message in blue ink under the one he’d left in red.

_“May the moon cradle you in your loneliest hours.”_

His heart stumbles in his chest. Zuko glances around the room surreptitiously, but he doesn’t find anyone else looking his way. So the poet isn’t in this class. 

Zuko looks back at the writing. He digs his phone out and takes a picture, feeling overcome with the need to preserve this conversation, to keep it on record somewhere, because this is the strangest and yet the most romantic and gentle conversation he’s ever had in his life. 

The tip of his pen touches the wood, but he hesitates. He’s never been good with words - that he came up with that first line at all is a mini miracle. But he doesn’t want this to end just yet. 

_“May the stars provide you company on your restless nights.”  
_

He stares at the words, and then he presses his hand to his face. What is he even doing? 

Though he supposes Uncle would be proud of him for venturing out on something so  _romantic_  and  _exciting_.

Zuko flops back in his chair. He’s been spending too much time with the old man. 

Still, he peeks at the phrases again, wondering what he’ll get in response.

—————————————-

For Zuko, two weeks is a spectacular amount of time for something to be drawn out. He has little to no patience, and as fun as this game’s been, he can’t take the mystery anymore.

He needs to know before he explodes.

So he waits.

He waits through three periods, and just when he’s about to give up on discovering who this person is, he peeks through the door one more time.

His heart slams against his ribs.

There’s a girl sitting at his desk. She’s holding a distinctly blue pen in her hand, one she’s digging carefully into the surface of the desk - right below his last message. 

She lifts a hand to bat away the thick curtain of hair that’s fallen over her shoulder, and Zuko’s heart flings itself forward once more.

She is beautiful.

He takes in the rich, warm brown tones of her skin - flawless, not a mark or spot in sight. Her nose is pert and slender, her mouth is full and tilted upwards at the corners as she writes. And when she lifts her head, he learns that her eyes are the brightest shade of blue he has ever seen. 

For a moment, Zuko is breathless. And then his feet carry him forward, and he stops before the desk, standing awkwardly for several seconds.

“It’s you,” He finally blurts, and promptly turns a violent shade of red.

The girl lifts her head, eyes widening in shock, and then - and then an obvious happiness sweeps across her face.

She stands quickly and asks excitedly, “Are you my poet?”

He can only stare for a moment. No one has ever claimed him as theirs, especially in such a forward way. 

Zuko blinks himself back to life and nods. “Yeah, I guess so,” He answers, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

“I’ve been wondering when I would get to meet you!” The excitement in her voice is contagious, and it begins to spread through him like sunlight. “My name is Katara.”

Katara. What a wonderful name.

Clearing his throat, Zuko offers his hand. “Zuko. I’ve - I’ve been thinking about you too.” And before he can really chicken out, he adds, “Um, can I take you to lunch? My Uncle owns a great little tea shop.”

Katara grins. “I would love that!” She crouches down and grabs her bag, then moves to stand beside Zuko. “I was planning on going to the Jasmine Dragon today, I know it’s really popular, but everything there is just so great.”

Zuko ducks his head, grinning at his feet. “Yeah, that’s my Uncle’s shop. I think I can get you in.”

Katara gasps, and Zuko leads her to the door, holding it open with a bigger grin. He glances back at the desk as she walks past him, feeling absurdly grateful for that rickety old piece of wood.


	4. Close Quarters

Katara exhales as she finishes loading the dishwasher. She closes the latch and starts it, then stretches her arms high over her head. It’s been such a long day; a long shift at work, followed by an even longer evening cramming for her exams - all she wants to do right now is go to sleep.

She shuffles into the bathroom and takes care of her nightly routine. Once her face and her teeth feel cleaner and her hair is brushed, Katara heads for her bedroom. 

There’s a bright light under the door across from her room. She pauses, hovering in the hall, debating. Is he still up? She hopes not, he’s hardly left his room all day - she knows because she’s called and texted repeatedly to make him leave so that his butt doesn’t grow around his chair.

Katara crosses the hall and cracks the door open. Yeah, he’s still up.

Zuko sits hunched over his desk, pencil tapping against his notebook in agitation as he mutters to himself, trying to memorize everything necessary before his biggest exam. His desk is littered with crumpled wrappers, empty water bottles, and discarded tea cups, the kind he uses specifically for the special brands his uncle gives to him. His shirt is wrinkled, his hair unruly and messy from his hands constantly digging through it in frustration. It’s all a very familiar sight to Katara; it’s not her first exam season with Zuko.

“Hey,” She calls, walking into the room.

Zuko hardly glances up. “Hey,” He mumbles. His voice is raspier than usual with exhaustion.

Katara frowns. “Zuko, you need to go to bed.” She moves to stand beside him, looking over the ridiculous neatness of his handwriting. 

He grunts in response. “I need to study. Exam’s in the morning, if I don’t pass this one, I’m fucked.”

“You’re fucked either way if you don’t get any sleep.” She reaches out and brushes her fingers over his hair. It’s soft and thick, luxurious to the touch. She digs her fingers into his hair gently, raking through a few small knots.

Zuko sighs slowly. He drops his pencil and leans back, stretching across the back of his chair. There’s a dark circle under his good eye, and his lovely mouth falls into a pout. 

Her resolve is crumbling. He just looks so damn cute like this, sleepy and worn down - he never pouts, dammit! Katara cards her fingers through Zuko’s hair slowly. She steps closer, smiling a bit when he he hums. The tension bleeds out of him slowly as he relaxes under her touch.

“Yeah,” He mumbles, “Maybe I should go to bed.” He yawns slowly, rubbing at his eyes, and peers up at her blearily.

Oh, she can’t help it, she really can’t. Chewing her lip, Katara leans down and kisses Zuko. Her lips graze his in a soft, light, barely there kiss. His lips feel warm, slightly chapped, and when she straightens, his cheeks are red and his eyes are wide.

Katara clears her throat. Her own cheeks are flushed, heart thumping against her ribs. She rocks on her toes and says, “So. Um. Yeah. Bed time? Bed time.”

Zuko stares at her for a moment. “Uh, y-yeah,” He stutters, “Um. Maybe - maybe after another kiss?” 

Her heart lurches, but she grins, trying not to laugh. He’s so cute when he’s flustered, he really is irresistible. Katara leans back in, lifting her hand to Zuko’s jaw. The corner of it is sharp under her fingers; there’s a hint of stubble there, too. 

Zuko tips his head up to meet her. This time, he kisses her, soft and careful, as if he’s afraid too much of anything will rend him to pieces. She doesn’t push; she’s more than content with something so tender.

Katara’s fingers brush the length of Zuko’s jaw as she pulls away. She straightens once more, watching him, and is utterly pleased with the way he blinks several times and falls back against his chair with a quiet exhale.

“Goodnight, Zuko,” She trills, laughing softly. Katara walks to the door, peeking back over her shoulder.

He’s watching her, eyes wide with amazement. “Goodnight, Katara,” He responds, dazed and distant.

She shuts the door behind her and scurries to her room, spinning in and leaning against her door once it’s closed. Her chest heaves with the breath she exhales; her cheeks feel as though they’re on fire. 

Katara smiles to herself. Sometimes, impulses pay off.


	5. Alone In the Dark

The differences between this boy and the last boy she kissed are as vast as the ocean.

For one, his hands have barely moved from her waist. For another, he’s still kissing her like he’s afraid to really touch her. 

Katara pulls back and looks at Zuko, really looks at him. He’s changed so much in such a short amount of time; with a full head of hair and a leaner frame, his face is thinner, his eyes older, as if he’s learned a thing or two about the world between now and the last time they’d met. She can still see the prince in the tick in his jaw, the way his brows furrow and the way his fingers clench in her tunic.

But the way he touches her… The gentle uncertainty has burrowed beneath her skin, much like the warmth of his touch has bled into her veins. He watches her warily, and she realizes he’s waiting for her to push him away. 

Sadness lashes across her heart. Here, in the back room of the tea shop, in the darkness of the storage closet, she can see everything she missed that Zuko hid behind his armor and his fire; a vulnerable young man that’s never been touched like this in his life. A boy experiencing something that isn’t disdain and rejection. 

Katara pushes Zuko back until he sinks onto the crate behind him. She climbs into his lap, smiling when his eyes widen in surprise. Her thighs bracket his hips, hands on his shoulders, and for a moment, she simply watches him, enjoying the look of shaken wonder in his eyes. She could get used to being looked at like that.

“You shouldn’t be here.” It’s the third time he’s said it, but his hands have found her waist again, fingers digging in just a bit. His voice is rough at the edges, an unsteady timbre that wraps around Katara enticingly. 

She slides a hand up the back of his neck, letting her fingers bury themselves in his hair. It’s ridiculously soft, ridiculously thick; she curls her fingers gently. “Do you want me to go?” Katara asks. She leans close, mouth inches from his.

Zuko’s breath hitches. His fingers tighten around her waist, slide a tiny bit closer to her hips. “I-” He turns his head away, nose bumping her cheek. “You’re not supposed to be here, Katara. I’m the enemy, you’re fraternizing with the enemy.” 

“That’s not what I asked, Zuko. Do you want me to go? Tell me what you want.” 

He’s silent, but she swears she can hear the harsh beat of his heart. Katara lays her other hand against his cheek, her thumb resting against the corner of his mouth. His breath trembles in his lungs. 

“I-” Zuko exhales harshly; she can feel his lips curling against her thumb. “No, I don’t,” He finally admits. “I want - I want you here. With me. J-Just like this.”

Her heart tumbles against her ribs. Katara allows herself to smile, pleased with his admission. She already knew; she can feel it in the way he holds her, can see it in the shape of his golden eyes, but to hear it is something else entirely.

Katara leans in close again. She presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “I don’t believe that you are the enemy,” She whispers, “Not anymore.” Her fingers curl in his hair once more and she kisses him again, firm, insistent, seeking more.

Zuko shudders beneath her. He opens his mouth to her, one hand sliding around to her back, pressing her flush against him. His touch sears her down to the bone. Katara allows herself to fall into him, to drown in the surprising sweetness of his kiss, the underlying desperation of his touch. Here, in the darkness of this room, they aren’t enemies, they aren’t pawns in an ancient war; they’re simply two people lost in each other’s touch. 


	6. Late Night Watch

It’s been a long night so far. The moon is gone, most of the street is empty; the stores are still lit but most are as empty as the street. Zuko sits back with a quiet breath. He stretches his legs out as far as he can.

Beside him, Katara leans forward on the wheel to scan the area. The streetlight ahead of them casts her in a faint amber glow that makes her hair gleam. It could be worse - he could have been stuck with anyone else tonight. Zuko had asked to be assigned to the case dealing with his uncle’s tea shop and the consistent robberies happening in the last two weeks. Thankfully, the chief had put Katara on the case with him.

Zuko glances at her again. They hadn’t gotten along very well when she had first arrived at the precinct - had fought so often the chief had threatened to have them both relocated repeatedly. It hadn’t been until Zuko had recovered Katara’s missing necklace that things cooled off between them. They’ve become close since then.

He steals another glance and watches as she sits back with a sigh. Close enough for him to develop a stupid crush.

“Are you coming this weekend?” 

“Hm?”

Katara turns in her seat to face Zuko. “The retreat,” She prompts, “To Ember Island. Sokka wants to get everyone together, remember?” 

Zuko nods. “Right, right. Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Good!” Her smile is small but warm. “I love my brother, but sometimes he goes overboard with these trips of his.”

Zuko raises a brow. “I remember. That so called fishing trip hasn’t left my recent memory.”

Katara snickers and Zuko looks away with his own smile. Sokka had joined the police force around the same time that Zuko had; they’d hit it off pretty quickly. It had amused Sokka to no end that his little sister seemed to hate his buddy so much in her early days at their precinct. 

Movement up the street catches Zuko’s attention. He scoots forward in his seat and grabs the binoculars, holds them to his eyes. There’s no light on, but the door to Uncle’s shop is wide open. “Katara,” He says sharply, “The perpetrator is here.” 

“You don’t have to be so formal, you know.” She unlocks the doors, eyes trained on the tea shop. “Just say perp.”

Zuko moves the binoculars to roll his eyes at her. He returns his attention to the tea shop and watches with a frown.

It takes him by surprise to see a familiar mess of bushy brown hair. Swinging from his shoulder is a bag full of Agni knows what. He even has the stupid wheat stock hanging from his mouth.

“Um.” Zuko side eyes Katara. “It’s Jet.”

A loud groan explodes in the small space of their car. “Oh, La, are you kidding me?!” She huffs loudly and digs out her handcuffs, not even bothering for a weapon. They can handle Jet easily between the two of them. “Is it really him?”

“Yep. Looks like he’s heading for that weird group he hangs out with.” Zuko puts the binoculars away and cracks the door open. “Maybe if you get to him first he’ll come quietly. Isn’t that how your first date with him went?”

He jumps out of the car and swings the door shut just in time to dodge her swipe. Zuko takes off down the street, struggling to contain his laughter as Katara thunders after him, both in pursuit of him for his comments and of Jet for his crimes.


	7. Weakness

_I know your weakness. It’s kisses. You are doomed. (Don’t worry. We’re all doomed eventually.)_

_\-------------_

Katara squints at Zuko, arms crossed defensively over her chest. “What are you talking about?” She demands.

“I know your weakness.” He nods once. A small, playful smirk flirts across his mouth, one he knows will drive her crazy.

And it does. Katara scowls at him, shifting on her feet. Her wild mane of hair moves with her body, fluttering around her waist as if it will come alive at any moment. “I don’t have a weakness,” She insists. Her voice is haughty.

Zuko’s smirk widens into a smile. “You do,” He insists. He takes a step closer, then another, until he’s in her personal space. This close, he can see several faint scars on her face; badges of her courage from a war fought in her youth. “It’s kisses.” 

His arms snake around her waist and tug her against his body. Zuko holds Katara tightly and rains kisses over her face, attacking her forehead and temples and cheeks and chin, her sharp jaw and pert nose. He avoids her mouth to save it for last. 

Katara squeals, wriggling in his embrace, and laughs loudly. The sound rings through the room, wraps around Zuko and embeds itself deep within his heart. It’s a balm like nothing else in this world could ever be. Her arms slide around his neck as she continues to struggle against him, straining away from him so that some of his kisses land on her neck.

Her face turns back to his and he plants a kiss on her lips, one that is sweet and tender, a bit warped by the smile on his lips. Katara grins as well as she returns his kiss, her fingers tugging teasingly at the ends of his hair.

“If anyone else learns of this weakness, you’re dead, Fire Lord,” She threatens.

Zuko laughs. He dips Katara backwards and kisses her again, this time firm and passionate, and grins down at her when he pulls away. “Your secret is safe with me.”


	8. Beware the Moon

_It’s a full moon. I bought some rope and handcuffs to bring to bed tonight. (beware the moon.)_

_\------------_

Beware the moon, he has always heard. 

His wrists are encased in red silk, tied to the bed frame above his head. He flexes his fingers but he knows he can’t break free. He doesn’t want to. 

Katara looms over him, one knee on either side of his hips, basking in the silver light filling their room. Her hair tumbles about her shoulders in wild curls teased to life by the humidity in the room; she is entirely bare to his hungry gaze. 

Her dark skin gleams in the light, as if soaking in the power offered by a primordial being. Her eyes are the color of ice, but they burn as she drinks him in, stroking the fire deep within him. He lays beneath her like an offering from the gods, hers to do with as she pleases.

Zuko swallows hard. Beware the moon, he thinks. Tonight, the moon is alive in his room, straddling his hips, and she is going to take him, shatter him with her touch, and make him whole once more.

Zuko lifts his hips. His cock is aching and full, throbbing with the need to be buried deep inside of her, his own personal haven. Katara angles her hips away from his and smiles down at him. It’s deliberate, designed to torture him further. 

A shudder skitters down his spine, and he grits his jaw, flexing his fingers again. He badly wants her hips between his hands where he can drag her down exactly where he wants her, but he’s stuck like this, at her mercy.

Katara lifts her hand to examine her nails. Sharp, slender points made of ice glitter at him in the moonlight, almost menacing. Zuko’s heart jumps in excitement. He watches as she lowers her hand to his chest. The tips touch the scar in the center of his torso, the star burst that resides on his skin as a symbol of his devotion to her. Instantly the ice begins to melt against the heat thrumming through his veins. Steam hisses loudly in the quiet of their room; it curls between them, thin wisps of hot air. Zuko groans, his stomach muscles flexing. Another shiver rolls through him.

He rocks his hips upward and grits his teeth when the tip of his cock brushes her hot, damp core. Her breath catches in her throat at the contact, and satisfaction curls through Zuko’s stomach. She wants him as badly as he wants her.

Katara leans over him. Her lips brush against his as her chilled fingers travel down his torso. Zuko lifts his head and catches her lower lip between his teeth, nipping with just enough sting to draw a moan from her. The sound makes him throb, sends arousal rushing through him with renewed fervor. He kisses her slowly, thoroughly, hips bucking when she wraps her hand around him. Despite the heat in her eyes, her hands are cool, and the sensation makes him gasp. 

Katara kisses him again, breathes the sound deep into her lungs, and lowers herself onto him with excruciating slowness. Zuko inhales sharply, releases his breath in a ragged moan as her heat envelopes his cock, welcoming his body home. Above him, Katara straightens slowly, her head falling back with a moan of her own that shakes him to his core. The ends of her hair brush over his thighs as she begins her ride, the pace set to her liking - slow, sensual, a controlled glide of her hips that steals the very breath from Zuko’s lungs.

Beware the moon, he was told. He watches his lover, heart in his throat as she takes what she wants from him, and knows he would gladly sacrifice himself to the moon and all of her power for this moment and so many more.


	9. Afternoon Sunshine

_Today’s a perfect day for naked cuddling.  I don’t even care what day it is.  Every day is perfect. (I’m gonna spend it with you.)_

_\------------------------_

His fingers skim her ribs with an idle touch. His mouth curves at the corners when she squirms away, but she doesn’t go far, just enough to retreat from his fingers. Her legs are still tangled with his. He catches her waist and pulls her closer.

It’s a warm day; the sun is bright, refusing to let anyone escape his light, but a cool breeze casts mercy on them every so often. Neither of them are dressed, and Zuko isn’t quite interested in putting clothing on any time soon. The sun glows against Katara’s skin, heating her beneath his touch, turning her into a living sculpture of bronze. Her hair is down, catching rays as well, shining and luxurious where it spills across the sheets and pillows. 

Zuko sighs softly, happily. He watches Katara’s hand where it’s splayed across his hip, a lazy show of affection. He knows someone will come to find him eventually - he can’t escape his duties for long - but for now, this stolen moment with his wife is everything he needed after a long and arduous day of meeting after meeting after meeting.

Katara turns her head and looks at him. Her eyes are gem stones in the light, glittering at him with a contentment that he doesn’t get to see often. That look alone is worth shirking his responsibilities. He decides to himself that he’ll do it more often.

She smiles at him, a lazy, easy turn of her lips, and he crosses the scant space between them to kiss her. She is warm and sweet, humming with her happiness as she kisses him back, and as his hand slides across her neck, seeking her thick mane of hair, Zuko debates on whether or not he actually will get up when he’s found. 

The hand on his hip slips over it, finding his backside, and he’s beginning to think he won’t be going anywhere for the rest of the day.


	10. Tributes of Love

"You did all of this - for me?"

It seemed impossible while they were constructing it. Many times he’d almost quit, frustrated beyond his limit with burns and scrapes and bruises, but the look on her face makes all of the pains and irritations worth it.

Katara looks with wide eyes, turning in slow circles to take everything in. She is standing in what used to be the east wing of the palace, but it exists no longer. In its place now stands a hall of ice and snow meant to pay homage to the South Pole, to the tribe that lives there. To Katara’s home.

Zuko looks around as well. He had removed all but two of the empty rooms, knocking down the walls to create an open space. The room to the left remains for whatever Katara wants to use it for; the room to the right remains as a space for healing and teaching, should she need or want it. 

The air is perfectly chilled thanks to the ice hanging from the ceiling, collecting in the corners, and to the snow packed into the walls. At first Zuko hadn’t thought it would be possible to do, let alone to keep up, but Aang had stepped in and worked some kind of magic to keep the room in a perfectly preserved condition. Zuko looks down and twists his boot, satisfied with the crunch of the snow beneath it.

Finally, Katara turns to look at him. Her eyes glimmer with something Zuko doesn’t have a name for, something that his heart reacts to by slamming painfully against his ribs. “You did all of this for me?” she asks. Her voice is soft and filled with wonder, as if she can’t conceive of such a thing.

Color creeps into his cheeks, but he nods, holding her gaze. “I know you’ve said you’ll be happy here, and I believe you,” Zuko explains, “But…” He looks around the room, takes a deep breath to bring the crisp air into his lungs. “The South Pole is so far away. I didn’t want you to be too homesick.”

He clears his throat in an effort to shake off his embarrassment. “And, anyway, you can use this to practice your bending and healing and whatever else you want to use it for.”

Katara shakes her head slowly. “Zuko,” she breathes. Her mouth opens, then closes, as though she can’t find the words to express her feelings. It seems a first for her, he thinks.

Katara crosses the short space between them and flings her arms around his neck. Zuko is ready for it this time, unlike the first time she hugged him beneath the setting sun. That moment feels like a lifetime ago, but it is etched into his memory, into his soul. His arms settle around her in a tight hug and he savors the contact. 

“Thank you,” Katara murmurs. Her breath is especially warm on his neck in the chill of her special room and it sends a quiet thrill through him.

Zuko pulls back to look at her and smiles. “Thank you for agreeing to stay here and help me sort out this mess.” 

Smiling, Katara pulls away and walks away from him to peek into each room. Zuko smiles to himself. He hadn’t given much thought to what the future could be like after the war ended, but now he’s thinking there might be a few things to look forward to.


	11. God Is A Woman

_you, you love it how i move you  
you love it how i touch you _

It doesn’t seem possible that this is his reality. What did he do to deserve a goddess? What has he done to earn her attention?

He doesn’t know, but he intends to hold onto it for as long as he can.

_so, baby, take my hand, save your soul  
we can make it last, take it slow_

Her hips undulate over his, a slow, torturous rhythm that drives him out of his mind. She’s tight and hot around him, agonizingly wet, bathing his cock in liquid heat. His head falls back as stars burst behind his eyes, the pleasure threatening to consume him.

He forces his head back up, forces himself up right, forces his eyes open to watch her. The moonlight has darkened her skin; a light sheen of sweat shines on her body, and her hair cascades around her shoulders in a wild snarl of umber curls.

But it’s her eyes that steal his breath. Pale moonstones stare down at him, pupils blown wide with lust, threatening to erase the blue around them. They miss nothing, he knows. They see the way his chest rises and falls, the pulse that beats frantically in his neck, the way the muscles in his stomach flex as she grinds her hips just right around him.

_but you different from the rest  
and boy, if you confess, you might get blessed _

He reaches for her, wraps one hand around her hip, grasps her hand with the other. Her fingers slide between his. She is hot to the touch, scorching all over, a far cry from the way she usually feels - cool to the touch, like the ocean on a cloudless day. 

“Katara,” he gasps, hips bucking against hers, voice strangled. “Spirits, Katara, you’re perfect, so perfect.”

Her eyes flare in response. She leans down, grabs his chin with her free hand, and kisses him. There is nothing soft in the kiss; it is almost brutal, the intensity threatening to crumble him.

He would let her. He would let her crush him to dust and remake him however she saw fit.

She’s already changed him permanently. Changed him for the better. Her hand prints linger on his skin, his heart, his soul. He is hers, and there is no denying it. 

_my one, it lingers when we're done  
you'll believe god is a woman_

She kisses him again, swallows his moans as her pace picks up. He can feel it building, rising deep within him, a tidal wave that threatens his very sanity. And is it breaks over him, drags him under, he clings to her, their cries mingled as she comes with him, and he thinks - yes, yes, this is what he was meant for. Her, he was meant for her. 


End file.
